But Chicken Comes From the Fridge
A Six Word Photo Story: Freestyle
Wait, what!
That's a chicken?
Really?
Chicken is a reactive word in our household.
Each morning, Rotto heads off on his Rott-trot — and he trots hard and fast. Next, it's Chilli's turn, and she dawdles like an old lady, sniffing here and there, taking her time. Unless you ask her if she wants to go home and have some chicken, then she tows me along at a swift trot to get home for breakfast.
Once we're back home, the word chicken sends both Chilli and Rotto running to their respective eating places.
But recently, Chilli's been confused. Just around the corner, the neighbors are renovating. So their backyard chickens have become front yard chickens. Chilli pulled up to have a long sniff the first time we went past. The chickens kept a wary distance.
I said, "Be gentle with the chickens, Chilli."
Immediately Chilli's ears pricked up, and her head swiveled from side-to-side as she looked about for a bag of chicken drumsticks that might appear like magic. I pointed at the chickens. Chilli looked at me like I was daft. Those feathered birds weren't chicken! Clearly, chicken comes from the fridge.
So we've settled on new terminology. We now call the feathered birds "Bok Boks" so as not to be confused with the chicken that comes from the fridge for breakfast.
Chilli loves to go for a walk and watch them every morning — except on the days when all three Bok Boks run at the fence to say hello — because running Bok Boks are super scary.
Thanks for reading, Sandi xx
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